


Society Says

by DreamingAngelWolf



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Dancing, Gen, Nobility
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-04-12
Packaged: 2017-12-08 07:08:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/758507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamingAngelWolf/pseuds/DreamingAngelWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At her first social Event at the Viscount's Keep, Elizabeth Amell bumps into a young man she didn't expect to befriend, and learns from him the finer points of how to be quietly rebellious in a stringent world of etiquette and formality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Society Says

**Author's Note:**

> This wasn't originally a Dragon Age fanfic - please bear this in mind. I'm only posting it because I realise I've been quiet of late, and I had the urge to post something, so... voila. It's not 100% canon, as changing all the noble titles to Comte and Comtess just seemed silly, and I don't know the names of every place in Thedas, nor their customs and/or alliances. Also, I just chose the name Amell as a noble surname. So yes, some artistic license has been exercised here, and I'm sorry but any comments regarding my descriptions of Antivan custom or Orlesian politics will be ignored - I hope you enjoy it for what it is, though. :-)

It was still early in the evening when I decided that I was not having fun at all. It was my first formal banquet at the City Keep, and most of the nobility had been invited. My parents had spoken so excitedly of this Event, but I have to say I was fairly disappointed by what I saw. Everybody looked the same, spoke the same, even talked about the same things. The only real variation came from the standard of dress amongst the different levels of guests, from the meagre threads of the lower nobles to the finest embroidered satin or silk of the higher title holders. Everybody paid careful attention to the outfits, though. It helped when working out who you could talk to and who you shouldn’t – at least, that’s how I did it. Nine times out of ten, I was pretty good at guessing who came where on the noble ladder, and if I didn’t quite get it, others just put it down to my inexperience at these sorts of events. To be honest, I’m not totally sure if I prefer it that way or if I’d rather they scolded me for not knowing my ‘fellow citizens’. If I’m supposed to know my fellow citizens, it would be far more practical for me to be in a local tavern than here in the over-decorated city Keep. 

My parents allowed me to drift away and ‘mingle’ by myself. I don’t know if that made things worse or not. Many had presented themselves to me voluntarily, briefly engaging me in conversation for about five minutes before leaving to talk to someone else they knew better. It had become rather repetitive, though. Two nobles had approached me a few minutes ago – a Baron and Baroness Haye-Marsten. They asked me the same questions I’d been asked a dozen times previously; was I enjoying my first banquet, did I like the décor of the Keep, had I spoken to the Viscount yet, and was I looking for a suitor? No, no, no, and no, but to keep them happy: yes, it was very exciting to be here; the décor was finely handled, the effort clearly shown; I hadn’t been lucky enough to speak to him, though he had expressed a desire to do so; and as for a suitor, I would be taking note on this occasion and possibly deciding at the next Event. That, my friends, is how to please most members of nobility looking to form a first opinion on a new acquaintance such as myself. It’s stupid and boring but necessary to avoid scandal. God forbid anyone should cause scandal, and as a debutante I am highly vulnerable to scandal. Another noble joined in the conversation part-way through. I have no idea who he was. The only people I bothered to research were the Dukes and Duchesses, of which there were five present tonight. I had memorised a few Marquises too, but I doubted I would have to find them myself. Marquises had a habit of introducing themselves to emphasise their importance, probably because they didn’t want to have to remind people once they were made Dukes and Duchesses (in other words, they were making themselves known because they wanted popularity). But I digress – I didn’t know him, nor did I care to know him, really. He might have been a Baronet, or maybe a Comte at best, but he was old and boring and more interested in the Haye-Marstens than me. 

As I drifted out of their conversation, looking round at the other clusters of guests, I spotted a young man stood alone by the double staircase. He was watching the scene below, or at least pretending to, and the vacant gaze on his face suggested he had similar thoughts to me. He was quite well dressed in a tan tunic and smart brown trousers, but I couldn’t pick out a defining feature to classify him as upper, middle, or lower nobility. Curious, I slipped away from the Haye-Marstens and their friend, making my way quickly over to the lonely stranger. He didn’t hear me approach. It wasn’t until I was next to him that he realised I was there, and smiled politely. “I suppose my father told you to come and talk to me, did he?” he asked. 

I frowned a little. “Um, I don’t think so.” I looked back. “Forgive me, but who is your father?” There was no response, and when I turned to him I was surprised to see a look of shock etched onto his face. I panicked, thinking I should have recognised him instantly, but then his expression relaxed and he waved a hand dismissively. 

“He’s a higher noble, that’s all. If you do not know him already, then don’t worry about it.” Now that he mentioned it, it made sense that he was higher nobility. He sounded upper-class, and the material of his clothes looked expensive up close. It must have been, to look ordinary from afar, as only the most skilled tailors can achieve such an impression, and they don’t make cheap clothes. He had the typical features of higher nobility in his face: a strong jaw, high cheekbones, and square shoulders. His dark hair was swept back from his forehead, as if it had been combed extensively, making his blue eyes look lighter – some thicker strands had refused to stay down, however, and this gave him a ‘wilder’ look. I could see a lot of intelligence in those eyes though. Would I be able to keep up with him in conversation? 

Relieved that I hadn’t made a mark against my name, I relaxed a little, and surveyed the scene below us. It was like looking down on the exact same floor, to be honest. “I don’t suppose you have been told to talk to me too, have you?” I ventured. 

He smiled broadly. “No, not yet. But if I had, then by the standards of many, I’m doing a shameful job of it.” He held out a hand. “My name is Saemus,” he said formally. 

I took his hand. “Saemus…?” 

He shrugged. “Just Saemus is fine. Like I said, I’m doing this all wrong anyway.” I laughed, and we let go. I’d liked his handshake. It was strong yet gentle, not imposing like the handshakes of most noblemen. “It’s nice to be able to introduce myself like that,” he commented. “The fact that you don’t appear to know me is… refreshing.” 

“Should I know you?” 

“Probably,” he sighed. “Unlike the rest of them, however, I won’t take offence.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Not at all, Miss Amell,” he said with a grin. 

Even this mysterious young man knew who I was! I groaned. “Please – if I may call you Saemus, you are welcome to call me Elizabeth.” 

Saemus laughed. “Very well then. Elizabeth it is.” Something over my shoulder caught his attention, and his brow pulled together a little. Curious, I glanced round myself. Two people were climbing the left staircase behind me. Their clothes screamed ‘wealthy’, and the way they held themselves said ‘pompous-and-egotistical’. No wonder Saemus looked worried. “Come on,” he said quietly, and motioned me to follow him. 

“Who are they?” I asked as we ambled away from the stairs. 

“Comte and Comtess Artoire of Orlais,” he said, tucking his hands into his pockets (a very un-noble-like gesture). “They’re visiting from abroad. Very dull, and totally ignorant. They take so long to say anything that trying to get away from them after the minimum conversation length is impossible.” 

I stifled a grin, despite his mocking tone. “I thought the minimum conversation length was five minutes?” 

“Five minutes, or ten sentences each,” he explained, leaning back against the wall we had moved to. “With the Artoires though, there’s no clear definition of where one sentence ends and another begins, or even how long the sentence is going to last.” He shook his head. “It’s always the problem with Orlesians. I think they have conversation rules of their own. Though why anyone came up with conversation rules in the first place is beyond me,” he added. 

“There are a lot of rules here, aren’t there?” That was the first mention of residual rules I had heard all night. It may only have been my first banquet, but I was sure none of the other nobles – upper or lower – would speak in such a manner regarding societal expectations. Saemus was either rebellious or spoilt into thinking he could behave so without incurring wrath. I studied the Comte and Comtess, who had only just reached the top of the stairs. They walked slower too, it seemed. 

“I suppose every aspect of society has rules,” Saemus was saying. “After all, we all supposedly abide by the same law, don’t we?” 

Rebellious, I decided. It wasn’t the practice of nobles to slander each other with talk of corruption. “True, but I doubt that the peasantry have specified durations for conversations based on the number of sentences passed by each participant.” 

“I should hope not. If they do, then my faith in the differences of the people is completely worthless.” I let myself laugh at that one, and it seemed to please him. “Don’t you think so too?” he asked. 

“I’m not quite sure what you mean?” 

“Have you ever dreamed of just walking into an inn or a tavern?” he explained. “Don’t you wonder what it would be like? How people would behave there, how they would speak, what they would speak about. We’ve been brought up to believe it is the complete opposite of our ways – if it was anything other than that, I would be disappointed.” 

“I’ve thought about it, briefly,” I admitted softly. “I’ve always hoped there would be fewer rules – still rules, but implicit ones.” 

“Such as?” 

“Such as…” I thought of something that no upstanding citizen, nobility or peasantry, would ever think of doing. “Spitting one’s drink into the face of a friend. I should think that was implicit.” 

Saemus laughed. “There’s little chance you and I shall ever find out,” he said, somewhat wistfully. At that point, he stood up abruptly, pulling his hands out of his pockets and assuming a more regal air about himself. I soon saw why. 

“Master Saemus,” a woman greeted him as she and her husband strolled by. 

He dipped his head in return. “Comte Fairenne. Comtess.” The Comte raised his hand in silent greeting, and the Comtess smiled at me as they moved on. I scrambled to remember their names and faces, ready to quiz Saemus about their place on the ladder. As soon as they were out of earshot, though, he slumped back again, and the weariness came to the surface once more. I let the silence settle before asking about them. 

“What’s wrong with the Fairennes, then?” 

“Nothing, really,” he said. “They’re good friends of my father’s, so I’ve come to know them quite well. But they’re very typical. If they saw me ‘misbehaving’ in any way, my father would soon hear about it.” 

“Oh.” I was about to argue that the Comtess didn’t seem like the snitching kind, but then it occurred to me that Saemus didn’t appear to have many companions his own age. I asked him about that, and he explained that he was the last of his generation to have been born. Most other women his mother’s age had already had children by that time, and many of them now had families of their own. His mother herself had passed away a few years ago, when he was just a child. Apparently his father had shocked everyone by allowing him to attend the funeral. 

“That’s what I hate most about all this,” he said suddenly. He caught sight of me looking confused and elaborated. “The expectation, the unnecessary horror and shame when someone does something a little differently – it’s ridiculous!” Realising he was raising his voice, he glanced around to make sure no-one heard before continuing in quieter tones. “Nobles are a minority, and it’s clear why. We go to all these fanciful measures to make sure we live in a ‘dignified’ manner – but what have you noticed about the rest of this city? The peasantry?” 

The questions were not rhetoric, and I thought about it hard. He was talking about the behaviour of each class, the measures they went to for the sake of ‘getting along’… Saemus waited patiently while I came up with an answer. My eyebrows rose as I found it. “The peasantry don’t need these expectations to get along with each other.” 

“Exactly.” 

“But, I don’t understand,” I said. “Are you saying you would rather be peasantry than nobility?” He looked at me curiously. “Do not misunderstand me – I can certainly see the attraction in a social sense, but the economic differences are what define the classes. Would that not bother you?” 

“Perhaps at first,” he admitted, “but I would relish the chance to feel worth something, to have earned all that I own through my own means and not just a name or a title.” 

“To be able to freely go in a tavern,” I added with a smile, one that he caught himself. 

“I must say, Elizabeth, you are the first noble I’ve met who isn’t afraid to discuss the faults in our society so openly – and then to agree with me!” He shook his head again, still smiling. “I do think you will go far.” 

“Won’t you?” I asked as the call for dinner was made. 

He pushed himself off the wall, slipping his hands out of his pockets again. “My future is all but set in stone,” he said, then winked. “Up to a point.” 

“And then?” I pushed, intrigued by what he was insinuating. 

Saemus looked like he was about to answer, but he glanced over my head and closed his mouth. “You’ll see,” he said mysteriously. He gave a slight bow, that polite smile returning – but with a warm twinkle in his eyes. “It has been a pleasure, Miss Amell. I hope we are granted the opportunity to converse again one day.” 

I was puzzled by the abrupt switch to well-behaved noble Saemus, but the sound of my mother’s voice made it all clear. Saemus himself left rather quickly, and I was sad to see him go. As I joined my parents in our place in the queue, ready to be led into the dining hall, I tried to find that same energy that allowed him to switch between the two personalities so effortlessly. As we walked forward, the strength of his words lifted my spirits, and I slipped into the noble outfit with relative ease. 

*** 

Dinner was long and arduous. It was also choreographed to perfection. The servants moved like one body, removing and introducing plates in unison. All dietary requirements were met and in their correct places, the food was presented stylishly and in appropriate portions, and was cooked beautifully. Eating was not so much a problem as I thought it would be. Listening to the politics of nobility, though, was another matter. 

The rules that Saemus detested so dictated that one may only converse with persons of a reasonable distance away – i.e. the people immediately next to or opposite you, and the two diagonally opposite. In my case, this included my mother, an outlandish Baronet who spoke too much, a shrill Duchess who laughed at anything, and an old Comte and Comtess who enjoyed complaining about something unimportant to my father. I cannot for the life of me remember their names, which probably shows how much of an impression they made on me. My mother and the Duchess discussed at great length my marriage prospects (Saemus’ name was mentioned even), and the Baronet insisted on bellowing down my ear about Orlais and the political disputes occurring there – how I managed to keep from flinching as he rattled on, I’ll never know, but I do consider it a minor achievement. I must have been accustomed to it by the time dessert was presented, for that was the only plate I remember being able to enjoy. He had some… interesting opinions of the Orlesian monarchy, many of which may have been formed by the hundreds of rumours flying around about them. At one point, as he launched into a rant about one of the Queens, I found myself wondering what Saemus would make of Orlesian nobility, or even the monarchy in general. 

After the last course had been smoothly cleared away, there came a chime from the middle of the long table, and Viscount Marlowe Dumar stood up. He had been put in charge of the city before I was born, but as far as I knew he had barely changed. I never remembered him having hair, ever. Age had grizzled him a little, but it did not change his posture or movement like it had many of the nobles under his command. He had wise eyes that shone brightly despite the many troubles they’d seen over the years, and though his shoulders had lost that defining square stature there was no mistaking the strength in his stature. There was always talk of him being too soft, a quality that many blamed the death of the Viscountess for. It seemed to me, though, that he was just more caring than they expected. He didn’t always adhere to expectations, from what I’d heard, a particular incident being – 

I blinked, thoughts stirring in my head as I began to make a link. The Viscount had lost his wife a few years ago. I vaguely remembered the state funeral. In the procession following the coffin had been members of the Viscountess’ family – including their son. People had been discussing it for months afterwards, all this talk of the Viscount’s “poor little boy” and how he had been “forced to endure such a heartbreaking and traumatic Event”. They had questioned Dumar’s sanity, feared for the future of his son. “It’s bad enough he has no friends,” I remember hearing one woman say to my mother, “now he has no-one to guide him as he grows. We must pray he does not turn to rebellion.” As the Viscount cleared his throat to begin his speech my gaze focused in on the figure sat next to him. He had lost his mother young, had no true friends to speak of, and had rebellious distaste for the practices of his kind. The way my own mother had referred to him suddenly registered fully in my mind. I paled. I had discussed the faults of the nobility with the Viscount’s heir. Not only that, I had approached him first, completely naïve about who he was, and assumed him to be of a lower rank than in actuality! I suddenly understood with startling clarity what he meant about his future; he would be the next Viscount, of that there was no question. But what he did as Viscount was up to him, and judging from our earlier conversation, Saemus Dumar could have potentially dangerous ideas for reform. 

Whilst Dumar read the opening of his speech, welcoming and thanking us all for joining him, I saw how Saemus turned away slightly, not watching his father like the rest of the table. He still looked like the attentive son, and even though I couldn’t see his eyes I was sure they would have that vacant tone to them that I’d witnessed before. Why hadn’t he told me he was the Viscount’s son? Surely that was something I should have known! What if I had said something offensive and upset him, or talked about him to another noble in a disrespectful way? The table hummed with laughter at a joke I had not heard, but I did not feel like laughing at that moment in time. Saemus had lied to me – or at least, he had hidden a very important piece of information from me. I was certain that his talk of expectations and taverns was truly what he believed, but why discuss a ‘taboo’ subject so openly when you cannot be open about a perfectly reasonable topic in the first place? 

“And of course tonight,” Viscount Dumar said, “we have several new faces to welcome to the Event.” I had not been listening up until this point – the words “new faces” broke through my small trance though, and suddenly I was alert. Dumar smiled at a young man close to him. “We have Master Remy Kirkshire, second son of Baron Kirkshire and Baroness Delilah.” There was a small round of applause. Remy must have been about to drift off like me, though, as he jerked upright a little and smiled somewhat sheepishly. Beside him, his mother rolled her eyes. “Master Isaac Newbus, first son of Duke Newbus and Duchess Margaret.” Another round of applause for the glowing boy, who appeared to thoroughly enjoy the attention he received. “Miss Elizabeth Amell, daughter of Lord Amell and Lady Veronica, and our only debutante. And may I say, Miss Amell, you look simply beautiful this evening.” I smiled meekly as I took my round of applause, sneaking a glance at Saemus despite myself. He looked neither interested nor disinterested. For some reason, that bothered me. “Finally, Master Gregory Huume, fourth son of Comte Huume and Comtess Moira.” Gregory Huume looked spoilt, even from the odd angle I was sat to him. He didn’t smile like the rest of us had, even though his parents were beaming either side of him. The Viscount continued his speech: “It is through these Events that we hope to show our new attendees the ways of our society, and through socialising, we can guarantee them the brightest of futures. I am delighted they were all able to attend tonight.” There were murmurs of approval, but I knew that one individual would be muttering in disagreement. 

Thankfully, whoever wrote the Viscount’s speech had kept it short. There were specific topics mentioned, of course: the Orlesian Queen, the collapse of the Bradstokes’ mine, the news of betrothals or pregnancies, and a toast to the new Knight-Commander. “And finally, I am honoured to inform you that the dance hall has, at long last, been completed, and is ready for use,” the Viscount announced. “I am sure many of you will be aware of the proceedings already, but to commemorate the occasion, the Debutantes’ Dance will be the first dance to be conducted this evening on the new floor, with the Open Dance to follow the Veterans’ Dance at the end of the night.” 

I turned to my mother. “Debutantes’ Dance?” I whispered. She shushed me crossly, but nodded before turning her attention back to the Viscount. I repressed the urge to childishly make a face and groan. Dancing was a chore to me, regardless of my “natural ability” and “perfect understanding” of musical tones (words spoken by my dance tutor, who I’m sure would have praised me for doing a somersault if I’d done it to music). There was no option to refuse, however, and the names of the boys were placed in a small glass by the Seneschal, which after being shaken he held out proudly. 

“Due to the presence of only one debutante this evening, the order in which our newcomers shall dance with Miss Amell will be decided at random as opposed to the rotary order normally enforced,” he explained. In other words, I was to dance with all three of them, whether I liked it or not. The Seneschal turned and smiled. “Master Saemus, would you be kind enough to pick the first name?” 

By the gods! Of all the people to choose who I was to dance with, it would be he, wouldn’t it? The Maker must have picked me as his fool, this evening. Saemus, with all appropriate mannerisms, said he would be honoured, and took a folded piece of paper out of the glass. “Master Isaac.” Isaac Newbus looked as smug as he did when his name was first read out. I clapped along with the rest of the company, but was dubious as to whether I would enjoy that first dance or not. 

Viscount Dumar chose my second partner of the evening. “Master Remy,” he announced, and the Kirkshires cheered happily. Remy himself blushed, and glanced down the table at me nervously. I smiled back out of politeness, and that gave him some ounce of confidence. Gregory, however, looked totally uninterested at the prospect of dancing with me, and I realised that would be at least two dances I probably would not enjoy. I could not help but wonder how dances were arranged among the peasantry, and whether there were rules for that too or not. 

Without further ado, we were ushered through to the Keep’s newly renovated dance hall, a high-ceilinged room of white marble and honey-coloured wood, with rich gold and red detail and three glistening chandeliers. To the right, a spectacular mirror hung over a lavish fireplace, reflecting the moonlight that poured forth from the four huge gold-framed windows. I half expected to see a spectre or two trip lightly across the open floor before us, all white and ghostly, but it was then that I registered the six Circle mages at the sides of the room. As we entered, with myself and Master Isaac at the front, they lifted their hands and simultaneously sent small balls of fire toward the three chandeliers. There was a gasp of delight as the candles were all lit at once, and the mages bowed as the guests gladly showed their appreciation. Each one then proceeded to disappear in a swirl of smoke, and eight footmen filed out to draw closed the towering red drapes of the windows. Musicians appeared in the far corner opposite, silently taking their positions as Isaac and I were encouraged to take our own. Mercifully, I saw, two younger ladies had volunteered to dance with Remy and Gregory until my turn with them, so at least there would be others to accompany me besides the Newbus’ son. He seemed rather less pleased. 

All too soon, the musicians started to play. Isaac stepped away from me, bowing graciously to signal the start of the dance. “Miss Amell,” he said by way of greeting. 

As he rose, I curtsied back. “Master Isaac.” We stepped together, taking up hold fairly easily, and then at a cue in the music we began to dance. I had a little time to study him as we got into our stride. He was taller by a few inches, had perfectly styled hair the colour of wet sand, and solid blue eyes that looked too dark against his pale skin. I could not deny, however, that he had an attractive face. 

“Have you enjoyed the evening?” he asked as we rotated. 

“I believe I have,” I responded. “The food was very pleasant, and everybody has been so welcoming.” 

“Yes, I agree,” he said. He was a good dancer, I decided, and conversation paused as I turned underneath his hand. “I was approached by your parents,” he informed me as we resumed the dance in the opposite direction. “Did they tell you my family are invited to dinner at your household?” 

“No,” I said, hiding the mild horror in my voice. “I have barely spoken to them myself, I’m afraid. Will your whole family be coming then?” I knew enough about the Newbuses to know that they had more than one child. I hoped they were not all as self-centred as Isaac appeared to be. 

“I should think so,” he answered nonchalantly. “Though I feel inclined to warn you: my brother, Thomas, can be very disruptive at times. My parents say it is only due to his age, but I was never as ‘boisterous’ at nine as he is.” 

“I’m sure he’ll bring some much-needed energy to our home,” I said. 

“If you are referring to the fact that you are an only child, then I must admit that I somewhat envy you for that.” 

“But why?” I should not have asked. I knew full well why. 

“Siblings are very demanding,” he explained as I spun alone again. “I would be much more content if I had a quiet afternoon to look forward to rather than put up with the noise my brother and sister make.” 

And they steal the attention from you, I thought. I nodded anyway. “I understand, but I think I would enjoy the company a sibling has to offer.” 

“You probably wouldn’t. Conversation with them is strenuous at best, and they have a habit of trying to go about things in manners beyond their years just to appear to be on the same level as the eldest – myself, in this instance.” 

At that point, I gave up trying to put forward opinions of my own, and let him waffle on about the unfairness he endured at home until the time came to exchange partners. The men stood still as I and the other two ladies danced over to our next partners. Mine was Remy Kirkshire. 

He bowed. “Miss Amell.” 

I curtsied. “Master Remy.” 

Remy looked anxious as we took hold and started dancing. Unlike Isaac, he had light orange hair that someone had attempted to neaten, and was more or less my height, though he would probably have had an advantage if I took my shoes off. He had blue eyes too, but they were softer and oddly complemented his hair tone and pink-hued skin. He must have been aware of people staring, and flushed. “I apologise if I’m not very good,” he said. “I have had very little practice.” 

“You don’t need to apologise,” I assured him. “This dance is not hard, and I didn’t see you falter with…” 

“Oh – Miss Pemberley.” 

“Really? I thought the Pemberleys were all betrothed by now?” 

“So did I,” he said. “Apparently not though.” 

“Well, I appreciate her volunteering to dance. I was worried I would be the only girl on the floor.” 

“It must be… er, difficult? To be the only debutante, I mean.” 

“No, not really,” I said after thinking about it. “I suppose that if there were other debutantes I would feel part of a competition rather than a celebration of the New Year.” I caught a glimpse of Gregory with a fierce look of concentration on his face. “Have you spoken to the other boys?” 

“Only Master Isaac. He seems very self-assured,” Remy commented. I agreed, and we shared our views on Master Gregory too. He thought the boy was just feeling overshadowed by his older brothers, all of whom had been the most successful bachelors of their years. Isaac, however, would probably be this year’s success story, we decided. “Oh,” he said suddenly, “forgive me – I have not completely answered your question.” I looked at him questioningly and he told me there was another boy he had spoken to this evening. “The Viscount’s son, Master Saemus. Do you know of him?” 

I would have answered if he had said any other name. As it was, I was caught off-guard, and could only gawp like a stupid fish. “…I –” 

The change in the music signalled the time to switch partners. Remy smiled warmly at me. “Thank you for dancing with me, Miss Amell. May we speak again sometime?” 

“I would like that, yes,” I managed to stutter as I moved away, smoothing out my furrowed brow when I stopped in front of Gregory. 

“Miss Amell.” 

“Master Gregory.” 

“If you do not want me to step on your toes,” he warned as we started for the third time, “I suggest you try not to engage me in conversation. I need to concentrate.” 

I wasn’t sure whether to be offended or grateful, so answered with a diplomatic “Very well,” and relished the opportunity to be alone with my thoughts. Master Gregory was an incredibly wooden dancer, and as time continued to stretch on, I found my mood becoming increasingly sullen. Feeling irritated by the time the dance ended, I avoided making eye contact with an approaching Remy and directed myself to looking for who I perceived to be the source of my irritation: Saemus Dumar. Hopefully, the Maker was feeling kinder towards me, and would let the gentle Andraste soothe my mood before I said something regrettable to the Viscount’s son. 

*** 

Looking for Saemus was difficult. Now that the dances had begun, the banquet guests had all gathered in the dance hall, and personal space was drastically minimised. As the veterans showed off their experience behind me, I politely pushed myself through the mass of well-dressed bodies, pausing every now and then to take a compliment or answer a question. Luckily, nobody attempted to engage me in conversation, and I was relieved that Master Remy had not pursued me after my hasty exit from the floor. Nevertheless, it was a good few minutes before I finally reached the thinner part of the crowd, and spotted my target in the far corner by the last window talking to one of the servants. I made my way quickly over to him, feeling my mood flare again, and came to a stop a few feet away. 

I am unsure as to how long I stood there for, but it was definitely longer than necessary. I was not waiting for his current engagement to finish, as such, rather trying to think of how to begin ours. I was wary of being angry with him – to show anger to someone you have just become acquainted with is highly disrespectful, and I didn’t feel truly angry with him anyway. Still, I struggled to think of what to say, and before I knew it he was smiling at me. “You danced beautifully, Elizabeth,” he said. “I do hope those boys didn’t…” He trailed off, becoming confused as he took in my hostile stance. “Is something the matter?” 

Words swam around my head as I opened my mouth. Some denied the issue, some made a joke out of it, others required volume and a few were too harsh; in the end, I uttered the one word those thoughts had in common. “…Lie!” I blurted. 

Saemus blinked, perplexed. “Excuse me?” 

“You,” I continued. “You lied to me. About who you were.” I watched the understanding pass over his face, and he ducked his head in embarrassment. “Why?” I demanded, feeling more emotional than I should have done. “The way you introduced yourself, what we talked about – what made you feel you could not tell me you were the Viscount’s son? Did it not occur to you that it may have been something I needed to know?” 

“Elizabeth, there is a reason for this.” 

“Is there?” I snapped. “Well it had better be good!” 

In hindsight, I have to praise him for maintaining his calm. I had not yet raised my voice, but I imagine the nearby servants were probably quite alarmed by my tone. “You remember what I said when we first met? That it was refreshing to introduce myself as merely Saemus.” 

“Yes, what of it?” 

He sighed a little, that earlier weariness marking his face again. “Nearly all my life, I have had to introduce myself as Master Saemus Dumar, at which point people recognise me as the Viscount’s son. If you listen to conversations about my father, or even about myself, that is how people refer to me. They treat me differently because of who he is and who I will be. I have had very little contact with people my own age. I have seen all the politics of our society and more at too tender an age – I feel old.” He shook his head. “Even my father treats me like a noble and not a son. If I am caught doing something I shouldn’t, everybody knows about it, and my father comes under scrutiny. That in turn grants me his disappointment, and several lectures about maintaining image and popular support.” Bitterness had coloured his words as he spoke of his father. The weariness had been replaced with frustration, and he turned to me with hard, troubled eyes. “I sincerely apologise for deceiving you, Elizabeth, but you presented the opportunity for me to be someone other than the Viscount’s son, just an individual who could speak his mind without bringing shame and disappointment to his father again. Surely you cannot blame me for wanting to escape the vices of my relations?” 

Clasping my hands together, I thought hard about what he had said, my anger now quelled. His words were true – even my mother, at dinner, had referred to him as “Saemus Dumar, the Viscount’s son”, and I realised that to have that title and all its pressures on one’s shoulders would be a heavy burden. Saemus had wanted to be seen as a person with his own thoughts and feelings, not the heir to a title who was supposed to behave in a specific manner. What Viscount’s son would dream of peasant taverns? Having considered his reasons, I looked him calmly in the eye and nodded. “I understand,” I said softly. “I forgive you. And… please accept an apology of my own, for addressing you so bluntly.” 

He raised a hand. “That won’t be necessary. Aside from you, the only other person to have spoken to me in such a manner is my father. So, in an odd way, thank you.” My smile broadened. As the last piece of music began for the veterans, Saemus leant casually against the wall, his hands again in his trouser pockets. “I meant it, though,” he continued. “About your dancing. I confess I did not watch for long, but Miss Pemberley and Miss Rhoen paled in comparison.” 

“Thank you,” I mumbled, feeling the colour rise in my cheeks. “I do not normally enjoy dancing, yet everybody seems to feel I am somewhat accomplished at it.” 

“From what I hear, the Huume boy needs some more practice.” He tutted. “The Huumes always spoiled their children. If he is as intelligent as they claim he is, then he’ll know they exaggerate everything about him.” 

“Master Remy said he had met you.” 

“Remy Kirkshire?” I nodded. “Yes, I spoke with him and Issac Newbus. I’m not a fan of the Newbuses, but I like the Kirkshires. They know how to raise a family.” 

“Apparently my father invited the Newbuses to dinner.” 

“Probably to discuss marriage prospects,” Saemus said with a tiny hint of disgust. “It shall be a race between you and Miss Pemberley, I think. She should have been married a while ago.” 

“Do you know why she was not?” I asked, knowing that despite it being a topic he disliked, he held valuable information. 

He shrugged. “Her fiancée died. Brendan Mottleby.” It was a name I recognised, and he gestured vaguely at the dance hall. “Notice the Mottlebys are not here tonight? They come out of private mourning in four days.” 

I nodded. “So Miss Pemberley could be married to Master Isaac, but won’t the other girl’s family be trying to arrange an engagement too?” 

“The Rhoens? Yes, but they’re only here at the request of my father. They’re from Antiva, you see, so the likelihood of Miss Rhoen being linked to a family like the Newbuses is small.” He sounded bored by this point, and though I wanted to know more about betrothal politics I realised this would not gain me any favour with Saemus. 

“Have you ever been to Antiva?” I asked instead. 

“No,” he admitted. “But I should very much like to. I’ve heard such stories about the culture. It sounds… intriguing.” 

“My mother described it as a lawless place with little or no custom and bad taste in wine. But I quite like the idea of letting the son or daughter choose who they should like to marry.” 

“It is so much fairer,” he agreed. “Can you imagine how the Dowagers would gossip if that happened here?” 

“The gods forbid! I think they would separate young men and women out of fear of scandal.” 

“Ah, my favourite word,” he joked. 

“Do you not think they would?” I pressed. “You are right about their tendency to gossip – it’s bad enough as it is. But they also seem determined to be the ones to enforce tradition if they believe it has gone astray.” 

“They believe tradition will keep society together, that something new will destroy our customs and rituals for good.” 

“And they’re right, to some extent,” I argued. He raised an eyebrow and I explained: “If I have understood correctly, there are two groups in dispute about the laws, an older generation of conservatives and a younger generation of reformists. A new rule, or the removal of an old one, could potentially split our people – there will be those who agree with the change, and those who are against it. If neither group backs down, or no compromise can be reached, then it could be seen by the younger generation as a sign that change can be made and kept. More changes are made, and the older generations become estranged and distanced from the new generations. Society as they know it breaks down, and everything they have been taught in their lives is suddenly made worthless.” I paused, adding on as an afterthought, “I think that would make me quite unhappy.” 

“Well aren’t you quite the enigma, Miss Amell,” Saemus muttered quietly, but there was a slight smile on his lips and a curious light in his eyes. He had powerful eyes, I thought. 

There was suddenly a loud clamour of applause, and we realised the music had stopped. As we joined in the applause, the Seneschal rang a small bell by the fireplace and grandly gestured to his right. “Ladies and gentlemen, the Open Dance will begin shortly. In the meantime, any guest who does not wish to watch or participate may retire to the drawing room, where light refreshments will be served and an alternate form of entertainment provided.” 

“Alternate entertainment?” I mused as the guests milled about excitedly. 

“A Circle mage I believe,” said Saemus. “Nothing you won’t already have seen.” He stood up from the wall and watched as a larger space was made for the numerous dancers waiting eagerly to show off their prowess, then to my surprise he turned to me with a wry expression. “Well Miss Amell. What do you say to giving the Dowagers something to gossip about?” And with that, he extended his hand, inviting me to dance. 

I blinked, taking my time to form a coherent response. “But, won’t your father –” 

He shrugged. “My father will probably see it as a chance to meet you. If anything this should please him. I rarely dance, and he has constantly tried to encourage me to socialise with ladies more often.” His hand remained steady, and there was nothing in his face to suggest the invitation was more than courtesy – nor that he would be offended if I declined. 

I relented, and placed my hand in his. “Then it would be my pleasure, Master Saemus.” His hand felt warm around mine, and I missed it as he let go whilst making our way to the circle that had formed. 

“The next dance, I think,” he murmured as at least fourteen couples swirled around each other to the music. I asked Saemus to name a few for me, and he did so kindly, pointing out the three Dukes and Duchesses, five Marquises and Marchionesses, and the rest were either Comtes and Comtesses or Barons and Baronesses. Some were the more influential members of society, he told me, which explained the vast numbers of higher titles and slight lack of youth. At last, the music ended, and as it began again a new set of dancers took their places in front of everyone. I heard a few gasps and murmurs as Saemus led me on, and I couldn’t help the spread of pink to my cheeks. Needless to say, despite the unwanted attention, I have never enjoyed dancing so much in my life. 

*** 

“People are staring,” I whispered as Saemus handed me a glass of wine. 

“They won’t stare for long,” he assured me. “You might hear a rumour or two, but if neither of us makes a fuss about it, everything will soon settle.” 

I took a sip of the wine to occupy myself. It was not a drink that particularly appealed to me, but it was often drunk at Events so sense told me I should at least accustom myself to the taste. “How are you so relaxed about it?” I asked him. 

He stood more like a noble now that he was the focus of people’s attention. I was used to the alternation now, and found I was almost mimicking his changes. “The Viscount’s son always receives a lot of attention,” he said emotionlessly. “I had to get used to it.” 

“Miss Amell?” 

I turned at the familiar voice and saw Remy Kirkshire smiling at my shoulder. The pink flush of his face had faded now, and he looked as though he was genuinely enjoying himself. I smiled back, happy to see him now that my ‘issue’ with Saemus was resolved. “Master Remy. To what do we owe the pleasure?” 

Seeing Saemus stood beside me, Remy hastily dipped his head in greeting, some pink returning to his cheeks. “I wanted to say that you both danced very well just now. Everybody was transfixed – I do think you were the favourite couple of the floor.” 

“Miss Amell has had excellent tuition,” Saemus agreed, and this time the flush came again to my cheeks. I hoped the gods were enjoying the spectacle. 

Remy leaned in a little closer. “If what I heard is correct, Master Isaac was rather jealous of the attention you were receiving,” he informed us. “Apparently, he planned to ask for your hand in the dance himself Miss Amell, but it looks like you stepped in first Master Saemus.” 

“If Master Isaac still wishes to dance, there is plenty of time for him to ask,” I said. 

“Will you not dance again, Master Remy?” Saemus inquired. 

Remy laughed nervously. “I am not so sure,” he said. “Dancing was never my forte, and I’m sure my parents would be mortified if I asked Miss Rhoen to dance.” 

“Well then you won’t have to worry, Master Remy,” a new voice said. “The Rhoens have had to depart early. Unfortunately Miss Rhoen is taken ill.” Viscount Marcus Dumar had joined our conversation. After a startled pause, Remy and I dropped into a bow and a curtsey respectively, and I noticed after we were bid to rise that Saemus looked uncomfortable, as if anticipating something unpleasant. 

“That is a shame,” Remy said. “She said she found the meal very pleasant indeed. I hope it is nothing serious.” 

“So do we all,” the Viscount agreed. “And how did you find the meal, Miss Amell?” 

“It was delightful, My Lord. I particularly enjoyed the dessert.” 

“Ah yes – my cook’s speciality. I will tell her you said so.” He glanced at Saemus then smiled back at me. “People are saying you and my son danced rather well together. I trust he has been looking after you?” 

“He has been wonderful company, My Lord,” I said with meaning. “I am only sorry we had not been introduced earlier.” 

“Yes, I’m sure,” Dumar said with a chuckle. “Though, you have been speaking to other people I hope Saemus?” he added in a more serious tone. 

“I spoke with the Newbuses at the beginning of the night, the Duke and Duchess of Illsworth during dinner, and several others in between, Father,” his son said matter-of-factly. Dumar gave a sharp nod of approval, then to all of us he suggested watching the entertainment, before taking his leave. 

I stayed with Saemus and Remy for the remainder of the night. Saemus was not so open with Remy around, I noticed, and so following his lead I made sure to behave as expected. A few nobles approached us to praise our dancing, either mine and Remy’s or mine and Saemus’, and the entertainment was (as Saemus predicted) a lone mage. He dazzled the guests with luscious colour displays, the wisps and tendrils interweaving beautifully to make mid-air tapestries or flowing rainbows, sometimes tiny fireworks or moving figures telling a short story. Remy and I were enchanted by the show, and even Saemus seemed amused by the more comical stories the coloured figures played out. I was surprised to find that at the end of the night, I really did not want to leave. Remy had to say goodbye first, and Master Isaac made a point of saying goodbye too. Master Gregory said a stiff farewell, and after he turned his back on us, I was left alone with Saemus. 

“His parents must have forced him to do that,” he mused with a smirk on his face as Gregory retreated. I giggled, a small voice in the back of my head wondering whether I should encourage him to say such things. “Well Miss Amell – Elizabeth.” He took my hand in his, warm against the cold night air, and dipped his head. “It has been both a pleasure and an honour to spend tonight in your fine company,” he said. When he looked up, there was a twinkle in his eyes. “I only hope I have not wrongly influenced you.” 

“Hardly, Master Saemus,” I said with a grin. “And thank you for spending time with me, too. Will we see each other again?” 

Softly, he said, “I hope so,” then released my hand. I paused in front of him, temporarily mesmerised by his eyes, before answering the call of my father. Walking away, I found myself wondering again – wondering why he’d looked so sad at our parting.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, what could've been... hehe. So yeah, dedicated to fans of Saemus, I guess. May do some more DA stuff in the future, so watch this space. ;-)


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